


What Did She Just Say?

by DualWieldingCousland (DualWieldingMama)



Series: When Life Gives You a Blight ... [10]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 14:15:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4140852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DualWieldingMama/pseuds/DualWieldingCousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regan has a little too much to drink as she and Alistair celebrate saving Redcliff from the undead and says something rather important.  Unfortunately, Alistair doesn’t know if she means it, or if she’s just drunk. </p>
<p>Takes place after ridding Connor of the desire demon, before heading to Denerim to find Genitivi.  (Mentions of Lloyd, Leliana, Zevran, Murdock and Ser Perth)<br/>SFW</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Did She Just Say?

“So what’ll it be?” Lloyd leaned on one thick arm as he waited for the young woman to figure out what she wanted. It wasn’t like he had that many options available. There was a pricey Antivan wine, two varieties of Ferelden ale, a Nevarran whiskey and some sludge one barmaid assured him was the finest ale Orzammar had to offer. Most patrons knew what they wanted within seconds of coming up to his bar. But not her, and her companion apparently refused to order until she’d made a choice.

It’d been a while since she’d been drinking. The last time had been her nineteenth birthday celebration, and … no, she wouldn’t think of it. That was another life – a life she would never get back, and that would not happen again. Regan finally chose the stronger of the two Ferelden ales for herself, opting to stick to a brew she knew and trusted. They were only going to be in Redcliff until morning, and she didn’t want to have travel impeded by a headache, or an upset stomach. 

“You sure you’re alright?” Alistair asked as she plopped down in the seat next to him. He couldn’t help but notice the tired way she dragged her feet back to the table. Not that he could really blame her; they hadn’t had an easy go of things since she had undergone her joining. There’d been running and fighting and nearly dying on practically a daily basis. It was enough to wear anyone down. He smiled as she nodded, lifting her mug.

“To finally getting a moment to breathe … and to real beds, no matter what that troll of an arlessa says.” Teagan had convinced Isolde to allow the group to sleep in the castle for the night. Why he’d had to actually convince her, Regan couldn’t figure out. It’s not like they were just some beggars from the alienage. They just saved the entire town from a pack of undead, and managed to rid her son of demon possession without killing anyone. Surely that should have been enough for the blasted woman to think of allowing them beds for one night. But no; Regan had seen Teagan arguing with Isolde most vehemently, heard him shoot down every one of her inane objections until he finally convinced her to allow them comfortable space to sleep.

For a while, they chatted aimlessly while focused on their drinks, awkwardly casting glances at one another when they thought the other wasn’t looking. When their eyes met, they would both quickly look away, cheeks and ears going rosy. She kept trying to tell herself that she needed to stop … that she still loved Rory. While that was true – a part of her would always love the red-haired man who’d given his life to save hers, a small voice at the back of her head kept pointing out he wouldn’t want her to mourn him … not forever. If he loved her as she thought he did, he’d want her to be happy. 

She looked around for Zevran and Leliana as she finished the first mug and motioned for a second; they were the only companions who had opted to join the wardens at the tavern. Wynne had asked to speak with Jowan before the templars took him away. Sten did not see the point of wasting time drinking and opted to remain in the room granted him. Similarly, Morrigan claimed she had better things to do; study her mother’s grimoire, for instance. Jasper was already curled up in Regan’s room – one of Isolde’s arguments against having them stay in the castle; she claimed to fear the mabari would lay waste to the food stores.

She spotted Leliana over the lip of her recently delivered mug, chatting with a woman carrying a lute. Regan couldn’t tell if her friend was trying to convince the young woman to play, or was trying to get permission to play herself. It took longer to locate Zevran. She finally noticed the cluster of women in one corner and barely made out the elf’s confident laugh. “Looks like our friends have abandoned us,” she laughed just before a new mug of ale came to rest in front of her. “Um, I … didn’t’ ask for ….”

“Table o’er there sent it.” 

She looked over at the indicated table, surprised to see it Murdock and Ser Perth smiling in her direction. “For everything you did, my lady,” Ser Perth called out, obviously more than a little into his cups. She smiled a thank you and looked back over at Alistair just in time to see a rather buxom barmaid leaning over to collect the empty mug, the woman’s assets pressing against the back of Alistair’s shoulders and neck. Regan watched as his already pink cheeks turned bright red and reached over to brush her fingers against his hand.

Alistair could have sworn his heart stopped for a second at the contact, eyes widening as he glanced awkwardly down. He saw her fingers, nails worn down and torn … so far removed from the life she’d led before. He wanted to say something clever, but couldn’t come up with anything that didn’t sound foolish in his head. He watched as she started on the third mug of ale, only to have yet another full one appear on the table. 

“You’re going to have to help me drink these if they keep coming.” Regan gave his hand a quick squeeze before pulling back, lifting yet another mug in a toast to whomever had sent this one over. She knew she shouldn’t drink much more, but … they had just saved an entire village, hadn’t they? They … she deserved a little bit of time to enjoy things, right? It wasn’t like she was going to take anyone back to her room this time; she didn’t have anything to prove … and, oh look, another ale.

Alistair just shook his head and reached for the newest beverage to hit their table. He knew it must look foolish, this only being his second while his fellow warden was on number … four? Five? No, it was four. But, in truth, he was content to just watch her; this was more the celebration he wanted than the drinking. Just … to be with her. But she’d never want him, would she? He was just … another warden. “You … might want to slow down a little, Regan,” he suggested, taking a slow draw from the mug. “You’ve hardly eaten and … well, we do have to get on the road early tomorrow.”

Regan just smiled, eyes trying to focus on the man next to her. She’d fought through countless demons and nightmares in the fade to find him at Kinloch Hold, and she’d do it again in a heartbeat. Fuzzy headed, she leaned over, resting her head on his shoulder. She finished off what was left of the fourth mug of ale and reached for her fifth, which, of course, had miraculously appeared when she wasn’t looking. Through hazy eyes, she focused on getting the mug to her lips, pleasantly amused at the blurred trail it left behind.

Alistair didn’t quite know what to do. On one hand, they really should be getting to bed and she really should be sobering up. The trip to Denerim to find this Genitivi would be long. On the other hand, he was enjoying the feel of her body against his, her head resting on his shoulder, hand resting gently on his knee. He had to fight the urge to drape his arm over her shoulder until she nearly toppled backwards. He clutched her to him, probably tighter than necessary, and gently guided the mug back to the table. “I think we’ve had enough, Mae,” he told the barmaid while avoiding her gaze. 

“I love you, Alistair.”

Alistair froze, eyes flying open as his brain tried to register what had been near whispered in his ear. He felt lips at that spot where his ear met his jaw … soft, warm, wet lips that sent a shiver down his spine. Teeth, softly nipping at the lobe before … was that her tongue tracing along …? Oh, Maker, it was. And her hand … was her hand moving? Andraste’s garters, she was tracing little patterns along his thigh just above his knee. He swallowed thickly, tried to calm his racing pulse and whispered, “What … what was that?” Had he imagined it?  
She shifted, nuzzled at his throat before repeating. “Love you.” She brought her other hand over to trace a finger along his jaw, draw his face more toward hers, and broke into a fit of giggles. “ ‘s leavin’ a trail. Lookit, my hand’s leavin’ a trail.”

She was drunk. That explained it, right? Alistair tried to push the disappointment aside, deciding it was time to get back to the castle. “Come on, you,” he murmured, somehow managing to get both of them to their feet without toppling over. “We have a long hike back to the castle.” He guided one of her arms over his shoulder, clutching her wrist with one hand. His other drifted to hold her waist, bracing her against him as they shuffled out of the tavern.

He’d hoped the cool air outside would sober her up, or at least start her in that direction, but it didn’t. Alistair knew it would take him forever to drag her to the castle like this; she was practically his height, and while she wasn’t fat, she wasn’t rail-thin either. One of the reasons he loved her was that she could hold her own in a fight; he didn’t always have to worry, even though he did. Wait, did he just … liked! One of the reasons he liked her …. Loved? Loved. His gut tied itself into knots as he made a decision, shifting so he could scoop her into his arms, cradle her against him as he made his way up the hill toward the castle.

He ignored the amused looks from the guards, simply explaining that his fellow warden had had a little too much to drink at Lloyd’s due to the overwhelming generosity of some of the villagers. He made it to her room quickly enough, nudging the door open with his foot. He’d almost reached the bed when her mabari, whom he had actually completely forgotten about in his flustered state, blocked his path. Jasper wasn’t exactly growling, but he was certainly did not look happy that Alistair was carrying a near unconscious Regan.

“Easy, Jasper,” Alistair soothed, hoping the dog understood. “She just had a little too much to drink is all.” Jasper woofed angrily in response, causing Alistair to hang his head. “I know I should have stopped her earlier, but ….” He trailed off, wondering how he could explain just why he’d let her drink that much. Then he wondered why he was explaining himself at all; it was just a dog, right? No, well, that wasn’t quite right. Jasper was so much more than just a dog. “She seemed so happy … so relaxed. And I just couldn’t. Besides, after everything she … you both have already been through, I … thought she deserved it. I just want to get her in bed ….” 

Jasper growled, hair at the back of his neck starting to stand up. “Not like that. Maker’s breath, what kind of man do you take me for?” Alistair felt the back of his neck grow warm, sighed and gestured toward the bed with an elbow. “I just want to put her in her own bed … in these clothes, and then go back to my room.” He frowned, glancing down at the woman in his arms. “Well, honestly, I’d rather her be sleeping in something she hadn’t been wearing all day, but … well, you know.” 

Jasper finally let him pass, leaping onto the bed before Alistair set her down. With a faint smile, he leaned in to kiss her forehead. He was fairly sure she wouldn’t remember a thing that had been said. It was probably best that way. He should just forget it. She was drunk, didn’t know what she was saying. He started to back away when he noticed her lips moving again. With an eye on Jasper, he bent down, holding his breath as her words tickled his ear.

“Love you, Ali … my Alistair.”

And then, all he heard was soft snoring and the sound of his heart beating in his ears.


End file.
